


Almost Remembered

by suyari



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cherik - Freeform, Family, Kid Fic, M/M, Twins, not mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles finds out he's a father, much to his surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Remembered

At first Charles doesn't know what to make of the threesome at his door. It's been a long time since he and Erik have seen one another in anything but passing. A long time since Erik left and took Charles' heart with him.

When he doesn't say anything, Erik nudges the little shoulders in front of him until both children shuffle forward. "They're yours," he says, causing Charles' brows to lift in interested surprise. He can't tell if Erik is serious or not - he was a bit of a rover in his younger years, but he was always careful - but a cursory glance proves that the children are clearly Erik's. The boy looks just like him. Strong in the face of uncertainty, defiant, likely very stubborn by the way his jaw juts sideways. The girl has his dark hair, wavy and endless, but otherwise looks more like the boy beside her than Erik himself. Which makes Charles' point for him.

But Erik pleads with his eyes in a way Charles has not seen since...

The boy says something and it takes Charles a minute to realize he doesn't speak English. When he looks to him again, he's taken the girl into his arms and said it again. Charles blinks at him. It's a threat, he registers that. After a moment of riffling, he downloads enough to be able to interact with them. It'd be easier to draw the language from Erik himself, but impossible as long as he's wearing the damn helmet.

"He looks nice," the girl whispers against her brother's skin. His arms are tight about her, his body between Charles' and her own. Even though they're unexpected guests, who've dropped in in the middle of the night, Charles eases his chair back slightly to give them some room. "See?" the girl whispers again, voice soft and small.

The boy sniffs disdainfully, but doesn't otherwise react. When Charles looks up again, Erik is gone. He heaves a sigh and invites the children in. Unsure if Erik is still around or not, unable to tell while he remains so shielded, and unwilling to go to Cerebro to take a look because he isn't certain which he hopes for more.

The boy picks up a canvas bag almost larger than he is and taking his sister - Charles assumes - by the hand, leads her out of the cold and into the house.

"My name is Charles Xavier." It seems pertinent to introduce himself. He's unsure what Erik's told them - if he's told them anything at all - but it's only fair to remain polite. "What are yours?"

They blink at him for a moment before looking to one another in surprise. After a moment - and reassured by their shared incredulity - they respond.

"Pietro," says the boy.

"Wanda," says the girl.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Do either of you happen to have a last name?" He could take the information from them easily, but he doesn't want to distance them if he can help it. First impressions are paramount. He'd rather have their trust than their fear. Unlike some he could name.

They look to one another again, eyes darting back and forth as if in conversation. He reaches out with his mind, brushes theirs' slightly, just to determine whether or not they're telepathic. They aren't, but there _is_ something there. A closeness, a familiarity, a bond that is strong and open, forged elsewhere by something much deeper than a mere shared life.

"We have a few," the boy - Pietro - responds. Then shrugs. "It doesn't really matter."

"Papa said we have to live with you now," Wanda adds helpfully.

"He did?"

They both nod.

"And why is that?"

"Because it isn't safe," Wanda replies, as if in direct quote.

"It isn't safe _anywhere_ ," Pietro comments, rolling his eyes as if he's had the conversation too many times. Or it's been held above his head too often.

"And Papa says he can think of nowhere safer to keep us than where he left his heart."

They look at him expectantly.

Charles swallows under the scrutiny, thrown.

"He says, you are also Papa to us."

Neither child seems particularly disturbed by this, though Charles has no basis for how they've been raised. If Erik had been telling them that certain lifestyles were acceptable in the wider world...He sighs internally. It isn't as if he hasn't long entertained such thoughts himself. He suspects it is one of the reasons Erik left. Any longer together and they may not have been able to help themselves.

"We've been waiting to meet you, Papa," Wanda says carefully. He can feel the need to be accepted by him drifting free of her in waves.

Pietro has been silent a while, but he seems similarly in need of reassurance, though the stubbornness he'd been suspecting was so obviously present, Charles wonders if it is genetic.

He holds out his arms and the children hesitate a moment before responding. Wanda - infinitely more trusting than her brother - runs into them, hopping up into his lap to wind her own small arms about him. Pietro is slower to respond and leans more into his sister - his twin, Charles realizes - than Charles when Charles embraces them, but that's understandable.

"Did Papa tell you much about me?" he asks and feels them relax against him.

"Lots and lots!" Wanda gushes.

A quick dip into their surface memories - which helpfully swirl in response to his question - startle him further. Soft, quiet, tender moments he's always known Erik capable of. The love they felt with him, the security, the love he'd fostered in them for Charles. Their initial nervousness washes away under the gentle reminder. As far as they knew Charles was their other parent. A soldier who'd gotten hurt in the war and who had to be hidden away and kept safe - just like them - so that no one would ever hurt him again. He could see Erik through their eyes and felt his heart swell with love for him. It was the last thing he needed, and yet...

He settles them both in his lap, moving over to the abandoned bag and lifting it. He sets it across the hand grips at the back of his wheelchair and turns them around.

"I'm so happy to finally have you home," he tells them. Wanda turns to wrap her arms about his middle and rests her head against his chest. Pietro is torn between objecting to being babied and needing the attention desperately. He sits upright and rigid over Charles' knee and one hand grips the arm rest tightly. But the other, the other reaches out and takes Wanda's hand again and in a moment or two he is less tense. "Are either of you hungry?"

It would be so easy, he supposes, to refuse them. To sit them down and explain the truth. To shatter the dreamworld Erik has built for them, dismantle the glasshouse he's raised them in so far. Easy for some, maybe, but not for Charles. He could no more send them away than chop off his own arms. Chopping off his own arms would even be preferable.

No, the innocent pair in his lap are the only traces of hope left in the world of the man he has loved so completely for what has felt like forever. Knowing Erik as he knew him had only grown that bond between them, bolstered that love which they both knew should not exist, but did more strongly than any other love either had ever experienced. To know that Erik still felt that love for him brought joy and light back into Charles' life. As he expected their children would.


End file.
